Page 26 of Wed to the Devil

She pulls the edges of her cardigan close over her chest, giving me a considering look.

“I’m actually pretty hungry. When will the staff be ready to serve dinner?”

I put an arm out, touching Talia’s hip ever so briefly. She looks at me, her eyes narrowing a minute momentarily. But I only guide her out of the office and toward the kitchen.

“I instructed her to have everything ready to go when you woke up. So now is as good a time as any.”

Talia eyes me as I usher her toward the kitchen, but she doesn’t say anything. We soon emerge from the hallway into the living room and walk around to the kitchen. The staff I’ve brought in have a number of pots and pans full of half finished food on the stovetop and kitchen counter. She turns when she hears us coming, her chef’s coat starched and crisp. She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel as I wrap an arm around Talia.

“Patrice, this is Talia. Talia, this is Chef Patrice.”

Patrice bows her head, a tiny smile blooming on her face. “It’s a pleasure to serve you.” She waves a hand, gesturing to the small dining room just off the kitchen area. “If you’re ready, I can serve you right away.”

“Thank you, Patrice,” Talia says. She grabs my hand and squeezes it, looking at me strangely. I gather that she means that I should also thank the chef.

“Er, yes. Thank you. We’ll be in the dining room.”

Patrice bows and turns toward the kitchen counter. “I’ll be right in with the first course.”

I hurry Talia over to the dining room, my own stomach rumbling. The air is heavy with garlic and I’m interested to see what our private chef has come up with.

After pulling out a chair for Talia, I take the seat immediately to her right. The dining room isn’t large, only really having room for the most basic rectangular table and three chairs. This chef has already set two places, complete with silverware and plates and two full wine glasses of water. Talia looks at the set up, her eyes wide.

“This is pretty nice,” she says.

I slide her a smirk and shrug. “Usually I would have this chef serve wine pairings. But I figured since you can’t drink, it would be a waste.”

Talia starts to respond to that but Chef Patrice sweeps into the dining room, two plates in her hands and a kitchen towel hanging over one arm. She comes around and sets down the plates before us, giving us a light smile.

The first course is several slices of cantaloupe with a salty sweet ricotta. She bows. “Please enjoy.”

She leaves us to taste her food. I look over at Talia to gauge her reaction. But she has already picked up a fork and spears her melon, dipping it in the ricotta.

Just before she puts it in her mouth, she makes eye contact with me and blushes. “I’m really starving,” she explains.

Looking her over, I give her a wry smile. “I'm just surprised to see you with a healthy appetite. After what you endured this morning with my brother…” I shrug. “I wasn't sure you would recover. And yet here you are, looking well and eating quite graciously.”

She arches her brow. “I don't think that my hunger has much to do with whether or not your brother assaulted me or not. I think I just forgot to eat last night and now I am starving.”

Talia pops another piece of cantaloupe into her mouth and chews. I purse my lips and taste the melon, finding its pairing with the ricotta pretty mouthwatering.

She fidgets, cleaning her fingers off with her cloth napkin. “I wonder what Burn would have done if you hadn't heard me scream.”

I look up at her, trying to control my emotions. The last thing in the world I want is to let her know how unthinkable the idea is of Talia being brutalized while she was in my care. I push out a silent breath.

“The thing that matters most is that you are okay.” I push my plate away, picking up my water glass and emptying it in a few swallows.

“So… What, then? You're just going to let Burn get away with this, just like everything else in his life?”

Her words are bitter. I want to yell at her, to express the frustration that is simmering inside. But she's already gone through so much today that heaping more on her plate would be incredibly cruel.

“Talia.” I lock gazes with her, reaching across the table and snaring her hand. I speak slowly and quietly, every word as grave as death. “I will deal with Burn. He will absolutely get what is coming to him for daring to touch you. He knew what he was doing and who you belong to. But he did it anyway. So you can rest assured that I will see justice done.”

She drops her gaze and pulls her hand from my grasp. “Okay.”

She says it like she doesn't quite believe me. But I am not really interested in challenging her preconceptions at the moment. The chef appears and clears our plate, reappearing with two handmade pastas, covered with aromatic bolognese sauce and a dusting of parmesan. Before the chef can speak, I raise a hand and thank her. She catches on, backing out of the room without another word. Talia doesn't wait for permission. She grabs her fork and digs in eagerly, twisting up the pappardelle noodles carefully before shoveling a bite into her mouth.

The bite is bigger than she thought it would be and she glances at me apologetically, chewing quickly and holding her hand up to hide the way that her mouth is stuffed full of food. A second later though, she moans. “Oh, my God. This is so good.”

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